


marked and measured

by orphan_account



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M, SmoshWritingWeek2019, SmoshWritingWeek2019 - Day 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Damien didn't trust this soulmate system, it felt dangerous to leave so much up to destiny.





	marked and measured

**Author's Note:**

> Hoohoo Writing Week Day 1 is here, and boy am I not good at Soulmates

_On your wrist, marks—a meter. Measuring of your soulmate’s menace. Appears the week you will first meet your true love No one does not have one. Fair fortune be with you._

“ I don’t like this anymore than you do—”

“—that’s not possible. ”

“ You’re right, it isn’t—only because you’re overreacting by the way! ”

Damien looked up at Olivia, exasperated. Then down at the ten horizontal lines across his wrist. Boldly black, mocking him with its predestined permanence. Skin is stinging, scraped and thoroughly tender. A little red from where he had been rubbing it raw all day. She rounded the counter to meet him and grabbed his forearm before he could slide it up his sleeve. Her thumb traced the markings, comforting and completely curious. “It isn’t that bad, you know?” Damien yanked it back with a dismissive wave. “Look at me and Wes, a _ten_ and a _three_ —respectively, we worked out, didn’t we?”

Worked out a little too perfectly according to the both of them, but even Damien couldn’t deny their destiny. The content couple were cheery in their every endeavor. Somehow similar despite the distance of their measures.

“Wes is harmless.” he wailed, all whiny. Knowing fully well that the massive man would kill him if he found out he had said that. Olivia raised well-shaped brows at the shifty statement. “Harmless— _deep down in his heart_ , I mean.” he amended, correcting himself and she resumed a listening stance. “And not every _ten_ is like him anyways, love isn’t some kind of universal experience or format.” His mind was running a mile a minute, matching the beats of his heart. His soulmate could be anyone—no, not anyone. It couldn’t be that cute Courtney girl moving in next door to him or the stunning Shayne who flirted with him from day to day. Felons flashed across his mind, criminals, mobsters, and other vile vocations. His stomach churned at the prospects. He shuddered inwardly, Olivia glanced at him, watching with worry. “I could have lived my whole life with people _zero_ through _six_ , but a _ten_?”

“How do you think these _ten_ people act anyways?” she questioned, tilting her head at her friend’s anxious actions. “You assume they’re all criminals, but aren’t you like a black belter in Karate yourself? I bet that bumped you up to a solid _five_.” she had seated herself on the counter and began swinging her legs leisurely, looking up at Damien with dark, daring eyes. Daring him to defy her declarations. “All I’m saying is that these metrics, they’re usually based on capacity and not necessarily intent.”

This was going to be his demise, this discriminatory behavior of his. Truth be told, Damien didn’t much like the the schematics of soulmates. But was it wrong to long for a friendly future, some serene setting? “Not necessarily, meaning there is still a chance of.”

“Isn’t this whole _soulmate-marks-business_ just the universe’s way of telling us that we aren’t who we think we are?” she stated so soberly, straightening up. “To challenge what we think we like and hate and, eventually, love?” continuing, with a dreamy, faraway look. “I say you keep faith in your fate.”

 _How profound._ “You and your talk of the universe.”

“And you, with your persistent pessimism.”

Olivia smiled at him happily with head tilted, impossibly endearing. “Give your person a chance, okay?” she urged. And without waiting for a response, Olivia added chirpily. “Because if you don’t, that’s two more lonely people in this world.” Damien rolled his eyes, watching her hop off the table and swoop her bag off the haphazardly, heaped hordes of books. “Now, I’ve got to run—Wes and I have a date.” She made her way for the exit, running her fingers through the shelved books’ spines.

“Where are you guys off to this time?”

She turned back to him, the corners of her mouth turned up in a clever curve. “ _We_ are going to rob banks and drop comically large pianos on unsuspecting pedestrians.” she proclaimed playfully. “Isn’t that what _tens_ do?”

“Ha ha.” he deadpanned, turning his attention back to the register.

“Just some light lunch date with _my soulmate_.” Damien rolled his eyes and some spare paper, tossing it at her. The projectile passed her and landed at the feet of Wes, who had entered the bookshop without either of them noticing.

Hard to miss a silver haired, six foot three titan—a _ten_ if there ever was one, with his leather jackets and frighteningly flawless face. But upon seeing his soulmate, his face split into a solid smile. Sunny and simple, unlike his impression or appearance at all. She skips to him, swinging her bag, and he carries her in a hug, swinging her around. If Damien weren’t so worried about them knocking over the book displays, he might’ve been jealous—scratch that, he was still jealous. But not bitter, his bestfriend had a boyfriend, had a soulmate.

Wes finally put her down, keeping Olivia and their surroundings unscathed and intact. Brightly beaming up at him, she put a hand on his chest, cuddling him closer. Sickeningly sweet.

“You can come along Damien.” he hinted, not looking away from Olivia. “It’s just about lunchtime, you can probably close up shop for some food.”

The proposal is persuasive, and he is hungry—but the threat of being the thirdwheel emerged victorious. “I’m good.” Damien lied easily, shooing them away. “You two go ahead.”

Wes waved his goodbye, putting an arm around her. Meanwhile Olivia, put two hands in front of her, five fingers up. Mouthing menacingly, _They’re out there_ , before leaving. Which left him alone with his thoughts unfortunately. But not for long, because just then, the overhead bell rang, a calm chiming sound signaling the coming of a customer. Damien looked up and saw a man, nearly indescribable— _nearly_. Curiously cute, he was striking in the way serial killers were—extremely intriguing. Hair is a shock of flaming orange, unlike he’s ever seen before. Eyes big and blazing, boring into anything and everything. Short, shorter than Damien was and stuffed in a plain hoodie.

“Bookkeep?” the stranger asked, making his way towards him. “Do you happen to have any books on amateur engineering? Or chemistry?” _Fascinating_. “Particularly with a specialty on the offensive.” _Even more so_. Stepping out of his spot, pointed towards the leftmost side of the shop.

“We might have some on crafts and construction over there sir.”

“It’s not crafts.” he grumbled to himself, as he looked for his book. The stranger scanned the shelves, going on tiptoes to see the highest levels, his sleeve slid back, revealing at least one mark. _Oh? Was it his week too? What were the chances…_

Damien disposed his service. “Let me help you with that, sir.”

“It’s cool, I got it.” he didn’t _‘got it’_ and Damien watched as he struggled with great glee, there was always something so absurd about the disconnect between outer image and actual action. Like with Wes, or in this case, this man looking to build a weapon, looking like he was ready to fight—and struggling to reach the top of a rack.

“Sir, I can pull up a catalog of our books and just search for it myself.” he persisted politely.

The man ran a hand through his hair, revealing _five_ fully formed marks on the inside of his wrist. Damien’s heart jumped. “First of all, it’s Lasercorn.” he introduced, still looking at the shelf with a restrained resentment. “And okay, but I _totally_ could’ve done it on my own.”

He fought back a smile. “Of course, Lasercorn.” The name is full of stories, stories he’d like to hear about.

Maybe he would get a chance to.


End file.
